#tammy baker

[astra-galaxie]

I hc that Sergi definitely did. Cause honestly it a miracle Andrew didn’t get Polio from not getting the needed vaccine.

I also hc that Andrew was allowed to keep in contact with Tammy. Andrew has some idea she did something wrong but he still loves her and still talks to her.

Agreed. It's a good thing Andrew never got seriously sick due to Odette's incompetence!

I could see Andrew and Tammy keeping in touch through letters since the prison might not let a child visit a convicted killer even if Sergei was with him! Andrew will learn more about his mother's murder when he's older and can understand, but for now, he's content with sending letters to Tammy! (Sergei's never bought so many stamps in his life!)

[trulyatessfan]

part 6 of 7 for @cheesecakeguy88 's birthday!! also, today (august 11th, is their actual birthday SO HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[cc-incorrect-tweets]

[pinkomcranger]

@hearts-are-connected actually sobbing. Like, that's such a beautiful shot and it wasn't needed but it shows so much! For that moment, he's her entire world, her vision is narrowed to down him. Screaming forever

Welcome to Bright Falls

[fantastickkay]

From People, April 1995.

[livefromtheyard]

that damn book is gonna be so expensive

[joni-witchell]

It's a good thing I have a good sense of what's right and wrong morally because I coulda been one of the scammiest televangelists the world ever saw and you can clock that tea honey.

I would be SWIMMING in your grandma's pension.

But I'm not absolute scum...so Instead Im so sweet and nice and not the devil

[sspacegodd]

Getting ready to dig into criminal televangelist Jim Baker's End Times Doomsday Chili Food Bucket, his own brand of Apocalypse chow.

Now THIS is surviving!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Flour Power - 1

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The rain poured down in sheets, thunder echoed through the desolate alleyway, casting shadows that danced around the battered figure of the male agent.

"Urghh."

With each labored breath, he clutched his injured left shoulder, the searing pain shooting through him a constant reminder of the peril he faced.

His once crisp suit was now torn and bloodstained, a testament to the fierce struggle he had endured against his enemies.

But despite the physical toll, his determination burned brightly within him, driving him to press on, to fight against the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume him.

With a grimace, he staggered forward, his vision swimming as he fought to stay conscious. Every step felt like an eternity, his senses dulled by the pain and exhaustion that gripped him. Yet, he refused to yield, his willpower serving as his guiding light in the midst of chaos.

Finally, his strength failed him, and he collapsed to his knees in the murky alley. The world around him spun wildly as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole.

But even in his moment of weakness, he refused to surrender, clinging to the flickering hope that burned within him.

With a final gasp, he succumbed to the enveloping darkness, his body slumping against the cold pavement.

🍞🥖

The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, casting a golden hue over the city streets, the bustling sounds of morning began to fill the air.

Shop owners unlocked their doors, flipping signs from closed to open, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted through the crisp morning air.

On this particular street, every storefront seemed to come alive with activity. The aroma of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee drew crowds to the bustling cafes and diners, where people eagerly lined up for their morning fuel.

But amidst the hustle and bustle, there was one establishment that stood out, a quaint bakery with a faded sign that simply read "Sunrise Bakery."

Unlike its neighboring eateries, the bakery remained eerily quiet. There were no eager customers waiting outside, no enticing smells drifting onto the sidewalk. Instead, the shop sat in silence, its windows fogged up from the warmth within.

As the morning progressed, a few curious passersby ventured inside the bakery, their footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

But rather than browsing the display cases filled with pastries and bread, they simply approached the counter and asked for a tissue.

Tammy's frustration was palpable as she glanced across the street at the bustling bakery, her lips pursed in a tight frown. With a sigh, she muttered under her breath, "Haah... we're hopeless. You should've sued him for stealing the recipe."

Your hands worked deftly, kneading the dough with practiced precision as you listened to Tammy's grumbles.

You are the fifth generation who inherited this bakery. The business was great until one of the employees stole your family recipe.

Despite the lack of customers lining up at your bakery, your focus remained unwavering on the task at hand – making the best bread for hamburgers in town.

"At least we have loyal customers," you replied, your tone laced with a hint of optimism.

Tammy rolled her eyes, a gesture of exasperation that spoke volumes. "But our bread is more delicious. I want people standing in line to buy our bread and going viral."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at her idealistic dreams. "That viral thing only lasts for a while. Besides, we don't have the money to pay influencers."

Tammy crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant stance that betrayed her determination. "I have followers too."

Your eyebrows raised in mock surprise, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "I think I'd prefer to pay influencers than you," you teased.

Tammy gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. "Heyyy..."

Despite the banter, there was an underlying camaraderie between you and Tammy, a shared determination to make the bakery succeed against the odds.

You washed your hands, the simmering hurt evident in your furrowed brow as you glanced at the bustling bakery across the street. The betrayal of seeing your family's recipe stolen gnawed at your insides, a bitter taste that refused to fade.

Placing the dough on a tray for its required rest, you instructed Tammy, "I'm going to take out the trash."

The mundane task provided a momentary escape from the weight of your thoughts as you stepped outside into the crisp morning air.

You made your way to the back door of the bakery, the morning sunlight cast a soft glow over the alleyway, illuminating the damp pavement beneath your feet.

But as you approached the trash bin, something caught your eye – a strange object lying in a puddle nearby. It seemed out of place amidst the mundane surroundings, its presence drawing your attention with an air of mystery.

With cautious curiosity, you stepped closer, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the dampness of the alley. The object lay partially submerged in the murky water, its contours distorted by the rippling surface.

As you bent down to get a closer look, a sense of unease washed over you.

With a furrowed brow, you reached out to retrieve the object, your fingers brushing against its cold surface. And as you lifted it from the puddle, the mystery deepened, leaving you with more questions than answers in the stillness of the morning air.

You screamed in horror, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of the motionless figure lying in the puddle. "Argh," you cried out, the fear gripping you tightly.

"Tammy!" Your voice rang out, desperate for assistance, as you rushed towards the fallen person.

Your hands trembled slightly as you knelt beside the body, a mixture of dread and concern etched on your face. "Is this person alive?" you called out, your voice quivering with uncertainty.

Suddenly, a jolt of fear shot through you as the person's hand shot out and grabbed onto your arm with surprising strength. "Urgh. Let go!" you exclaimed, trying to pry their fingers off of you.

In a flash, Tammy appeared beside you, her presence a welcome relief in the midst of chaos. With a swift and decisive motion, she swung the rolling pin at the stranger, striking them with a forceful blow.

The person released their grip, their head dropping limply as they crumpled to the ground. You and Tammy exchanged a wary glance, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Did we... kill him?" you murmured, the weight of the situation sinking in as you both stared at the unconscious figure before you, the scene bathed in an eerie silence broken only by the sound of your racing heartbeats.

🏥

"He's lucky to be alive." Relief washed over you as the doctor reassured you that the stranger was fortunate to have survived. However, the fear that had gripped you and Tammy moments ago still lingered, clouding your thoughts with worry.

Your eyes darted nervously between the doctor and Tammy, uncertainty etched in your expressions. Was the stranger's condition solely due to the blow from the rolling pin, or were there other factors at play? Would your actions result in legal consequences, perhaps even imprisonment?

The doctor's words only heightened your apprehension as they continued to explain the severity of the stranger's injuries. "Bullets, knives, poison...". The list seemed endless, each revelation sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lingered on the unconscious stranger, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind. What had led him to this state of peril? Was he a victim of kidnapping, fleeing from unseen dangers?

Suddenly, the patient stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and a collective gasp escaped from you, Tammy, and the doctor.

"Woah."

The sudden movement jolted you all, catching you off guard and sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"This dude keeps giving me a heart attack," Tammy exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and frustration, her hand pressed against her chest as if to calm her racing heart.

The doctor's inquiries were met with a shake of the stranger's head, a gesture that spoke volumes without uttering a word. "Amnesia," the doctor concluded, a somber note in their voice as they delivered the diagnosis.

You and Tammy exchanged a worried glance, the weight of guilt settling heavily upon your shoulders. Could it be that the events of this morning had somehow contributed to the stranger's memory loss?

"Oh no," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, the remorse evident in your tone as you grappled with the consequences of your actions.

Tammy, ever the optimist, interjected with a suggestion. "Bob suited him," she offered, her voice laced with a hint of mischief as she attempted to lighten the mood.

You shot her a reproachful look, silently pleading for her to refrain from further complicating the situation. "Tammy... stop," you murmured, your tone tinged with exasperation.

But to your surprise, the stranger echoed Tammy's suggestion, his voice soft yet resolute as he repeated the name, "Bob."

Tammy beamed triumphantly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "See, he likes it," she exclaimed, a hint of satisfaction in her voice as she reveled in her impromptu success.

Your brows furrowed in concern as you sought confirmation from the doctor, hoping against hope that the diagnosis of amnesia was somehow mistaken. "Is it really amnesia?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and sympathy.

The doctor's response was measured yet decisive. "We will check it thoroughly," they assured, their tone imbued with a sense of professional responsibility.

Hours passed, filled with tense anticipation, until finally, the results of the examinations were revealed. Another inspection and MRI confirmed the doctor's initial assessment – this stranger, now known as Bob, indeed suffered from amnesia.

A pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings as you gazed upon Bob, a lost soul adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Where would he go from here? What future awaited him in a world where memories held the key to identity and belonging?

"Probably he will end up in a shelter," the doctor remarked matter-of-factly, their words casting a shadow over the room as the gravity of Bob's situation sank in.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of sympathy for Bob, a man without a past, facing an uncertain future. As you watched him, lost in thought, you couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that weighed heavily upon you.

🍞🥖

As Tammy helped Bob into the apartment, her frustration was evident in her voice. "We're already in debt, and you've decided to take care of another person?" she remarked, her tone tinged with exasperation.

You stood your ground, unable to turn your back on someone in need. "I can't just leave him like that. He fainted behind our store, and now he has no memories," you explained, your voice filled with empathy.

Tammy sighed, resigned to the situation. "Suit yourself. At least we have another employee, and he doesn't need to get paid," she conceded, her practical nature shining through despite her reluctance.

Bob glanced at Tammy, his expression unreadable as he took in her words.

Tammy crossed her arms, laying down the terms of their arrangement. "That's right. You can sleep, eat, and live here. In return, you have to help at the bakery. You have to work."

"Work," Bob echoed, his voice soft yet determined.

"Good," Tammy declared, a hint of satisfaction in her tone as she finalized the agreement. Then, she leaned in to whisper to you, "I felt like I was talking to a kid."

You stifled a laugh, nodding in agreement as you exchanged a knowing glance with Tammy.

You approached Bob with a gentle smile, reassurance radiating from your eyes. "You just need to rest for now. When you're ready, you can join me at the bakery. I won't force you to work if you're still hurting," you assured him, your voice laced with empathy.

"Work," Bob repeated, his voice a quiet affirmation of his willingness to contribute despite the challenges he faced.

With a nod of understanding, you gave Bob a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping back, allowing him the space he needed to recuperate.

As you descended the stairs into the bakery, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread greeted you. Tammy, already bustling about behind the counter, looked up with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as you approached.

"You know what," she began, her voice carrying a note of excitement, "if Bob got a haircut, shave his beard a bit, he will be handsome. I notice that he has a perfect asymmetrical face."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Tammy's candid observation, her knack for noticing details never ceasing to amaze you. "You think so?" you replied with a grin, intrigued by the idea.

Tammy nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm contagious. "Definitely! It could boost his confidence, and who knows, maybe it'll attract more customers too."

Little did you know that Tammy's crazy idea would help the bakery.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Okay, folks, the mini-tourney is inching closer to the finals, so I'm going to give a list of the competitors in the Miss Billboard Tourney in order to give everyone a chance to submit more propaganda. The nominees are:

Lale Andersen

Marian Anderson

Signe Toly Anderson

Julie Andrews

LaVerne Andrews

Maxene Andrews

Patty Andrews

Ann-Margret

Joan Armatrading

Dorothy Ashby

Joan Baez

Pearl Bailey

Belle Baker

Josephine Baker

LaVern Baker

Florence Ballard

Brigitte Bardot

Eileen Barton

Fontella Bass

Shirley Bassey

Maggie Bell

Lola Beltran

Ivy Benson

Gladys Bentley

Jane Birkin

Cilla Black

Ronee Blakley

Teresa Brewer

Anne Briggs

Ruth Brown

Joyce Bryant

Vashti Bunyan

Kate Bush

Montserrat Caballe

Maria Callas

Blanche Calloway

Wendy Carlos

Cathy Carr

Raffaella Carra

Diahann Carroll

Karen Carpenter

June Carter Cash

Charo

Cher

Meg Christian

Gigliola Cinquetti

Petula Clark

Merry Clayton

Patsy Cline

Rosemary Clooney

Natalie Cole

Judy Collins

Alice Coltrane

Betty Comden

Barbara Cook

Rita Coolidge

Gal Costa

Ida Cox

Karen Dalton

Marie-Louise Damien

Betty Davis

Jinx Dawson

Doris Day

Blossom Dearie

Kiki Dee

Lucienne Delyle

Sandy Denny

Jackie DeShannon

Gwen Dickey

Marlene Dietrich

Marie-France Dufour

Julie Driscoll

Yvonne Elliman

Cass Elliot

Maureen Evans

Agnetha Faeltskog

Marianne Faithfull

Mimi Farina

Max Feldman

Gracie Fields

Ella Fitzgerald

Roberta Flack

Lita Ford

Connie Francis

Aretha Franklin

France Gall

Judy Garland

Crystal Gayle

Gloria Gaynor

Bobbie Gentry

Astrud Gilberto

Donna Jean Godchaux

Lesley Gore

Eydie Gorme

Margo Guryan

Sheila Guyse

Nina Hagen

Francoise Hardy

Emmylou Harris

Debbie Harry

Annie Haslam

Billie Holiday

Mary Hopkin

Lena Horne

Helen Humes

Betty Hutton

Janis Ian

Mahalia Jackson

Wanda Jackson

Etta James

Joan Jett

Bessie Jones

Etta Jones

Gloria Jones

Grace Jones

Shirley Jones

Tamiko Jones

Janis Joplin

Barbara Keith

Carole King

Eartha Kitt

Chaka Khan

Hildegard Knef

Gladys Knight

Sonja Kristina

Patti Labelle

Cleo Laine

Nicolette Larson

Daliah Lavi

Vicky Leandros

Peggy Lee

Rita Lee

Alis Lesley

Barbara Lewis

Abbey Lincoln

Melba Liston

Julie London

Darlene Love

Lulu

Anni-Frid Lyngstad

Barbara Lynn

Loretta Lynn

Vera Lynn

Siw Malmkvist

Lata Mangeshkar

Linda McCartney

Kate McGarrigle

Christie McVie

Bette Midler

Jean Millington

June Millington

Liza Minnelli

Carmen Miranda

Joni Mitchell

Liz Mitchell

Marion Montgomery

Lee Morse

Nana Mouskouri

Anne Murray

Wenche Myhre

Holly Near

Olivia Newton-John

Stevie Nicks

Nico

Laura Nyro

Virginia O’Brien

Odetta

Yoko Ono

Shirley Owens

Patti Page

Dolly Parton

Freda Payne

Michelle Phillips

Edith Piaf

Ruth Pointer

Leontyne Price

Suzi Quatro

Gertrude Rainey

Bonnie Raitt

Carline Ray

Helen Reddy

Della Reese

Martha Reeves

June Richmond

Jeannie C. Riley

Minnie Riperton

Jean Ritchie

Chita Rivera

Clara Rockmore

Linda Ronstadt

Marianne Rosenberg

Diana Ross

Anna Russell

Melanie Safka

Buffy Sainte-Marie

Samantha Sang

Pattie Santos

Hazel Scott

Doreen Shaffer

Jackie Shane

Marlena Shaw

Sandie Shaw

Dinah Shore

Judee Sill

Carly Simon

Nina Simone

Nancy Sinatra

Siouxsie Sioux

Grace Slick

Bessie Smith

Mamie Smith

Patti Smith

Ethel Smyth

Mercedes Sosa

Ronnie Spector

Dusty Springfield

Mavis Staples

Candi Staton

Barbra Streisand

Poly Styrene

Maxine Sullivan

Donna Summer

Pat Suzuki

Norma Tanega

Tammi Terrell

Sister Rosetta Tharpe

Big Mama Thornton

Mary Travers

Moe Tucker

Tina Turner

Twiggy

Bonnie Tyler

Sylvia Tyson

Sarah Vaughan

Sylvie Vartan

Mariska Veres

Akiko Wada

Claire Waldoff

Jennifer Warnes

Dee Dee Warwick

Dionne Warwick

Dinah Washington

Ethel Waters

Elisabeth Welch

Kitty Wells

Mary Wells

Juliane Werding

Tina Weymouth

Cris Williamson

Ann Wilson

Mary Wilson

Nancy Wilson

Anna Mae Winburn

Syreeta Wright

Tammy Wynette

Nan Wynn

Those in italics have five or more pieces of usable visual, written, or audio propaganda already. If you have any visuals like photos or videos, or if you have something to say in words, submit it to this blog before round one begins on June 25th!

If you don't see a name you submitted here, it's because most or all of their career was as a child/they were too young for the cutoff, their career was almost entirely after 1979, or music was something they only dabbled in and are hardly known for. There are quite a few ladies on the list whose primary career wasn't "recording artist" or "live musician," but released several albums or were in musical theater, so they've been accepted.

[cynicalclassicist]

That is the GOP for you!

[glassconfined]

saw headcanons: music taste

peter strahm always struck me as an enjoyer of the oldies but goodies. frank sinatra, dean martin, eddy arnold, chet baker . . . jazz & swing. i like to think he used to play the saxophone at a jazz club in his youth, a side gig for cash.

it seems like everyone associates mark hoffman with nu metal and rock, which means it’s hard for me to envision anything different. three days grace, korn, system of a down, breaking benjamin, slipknot.

though i can’t find it now, i do seem to remember the mentions of posters and whatnot in adam faulkner-stanheight’s apartment practically confirming his love for things of the alt rock variety. bands like the ramones, the sex pistols, the clash, misfits, buzzcocks.

. . . but if you ask me, i’ve always thought adam faulkner-stanheight would also enjoy 80s new wave. oingo boingo, depeche mode, tears for fears, talking heads, joy division.

lawrence gordon falls into the same boat as peter strahm for me, oldies but goodies. i venture he’d go even older, more pretentious in his boasting for a love of tchaikovsky and alessandro moreschi. i imagine classical music and opera are highly ranked for him.

allison kerry strikes me as a lover of fleetwood mac & stevie nicks, i think most of her favorites come from the 60s-70s. other artists i see her liking: the shangri-las, tanya tucker, nico, nancy sinatra, lesley gore, kate bush, dolly parton, tammy wynette.

lindsey perez . . . a tough nut for me to crack. my gut instinct goes latin pop, or pop in general, and maybe R&B. las ketchup, blu cantrell, fugees (neither pop nor R&B, sure, but who confines their taste to just a genre), shakira, selena.

[queersrus]

request for cottagecore + sad-ish? id pack? please + thanks!

here's my attempt!

assuming id pack includes more than just the usual npts i'll throw in a few cottagecore and sad related labels i found

(nick)names:

ambrose, amos, ansel, acacia, ada, adelaide, arwin/arwen, ava, avery/averie, aviva, amaranth, able, arbor, art, arty/artie, asher, ainsley, acheron, adalia brandy/brandi, branwen, billie/billy, bryony, bill, banner, booker, bram

barley, brion, brian, bryce chloris, chandra, cyrene, cayenne, cade, clyde, chester, cliff denna, diana/dianna, diona, donna/dona, derby, dallas, danica, daphne, dixie, dawn, dylan

edmund, elenore, elodie, eudora, elenore/eleanor, ebony, erica, eila, eira, eve, eithne, everlee, elize, eliza, elizabeth, everlyn, elwood, emerson, elowen finnegan, freddy/freddie, frederick, fallin/fallon, florance/florence

fable, frank, frankie/franky, franklin/franklyn, faine, filbert, finneas ginny/ginnie, gale, georgia, george, georgina, granger halcyone, hana/hanna/hannah, harriet, harry, hayley/hailie/hailey, halie/hallie, heather, harlowe/harlow, harrow, hadar, hawl, hayes,

huck, holden, huso ilana, illiana/iliana, ingrid, ivory jane, janet/janette, jesse/jessie, josie, jose, jack, jackie, jackson kingston, kodi/kodie, kodiak, kylan

lupin, lian, liana/lianna, liane/lianne, linc, linden, lyle, lucius maisie, matilda, maude, mabel, merle, marin, mica/mika, mason/macon, martin, miller, miles nellie, nyssa, ned, nick, ness

opholia, oliver, olive, olivia, oleander, odell, oriel, oscar paisley, poppy, posie, phineas, parker rose, rosemary/rosemarie, rosy/rosie, rory, rosette, rosetta, rue, rosabel/rosabell/rosabelle, rosa, rosabela/rosabella, rosella, rosaria,

rosario, rob, robert, ray, reed, ridge, ryland, rowan, roan shiloh, sharon, scarlet/scarlett/skarlett, sam, samantha, samuel, sunny/sunnie, sawyer, shaw, shay, steve, stevie, stevia, sorell/sorrell, seb, sebby/sebbie, sebastian, saddie/sadie, sade

theodore, theo, tori, toria, tamie/tammie, tawny, terra, timber, tim, timothy, tanner, teddy/teddie, trevis/travis, trevor, tyler, tristan/tristin, tristah/trista, trystia verginia, vicky/vickie, victor, victoria, viola, violet/violette,

violeta/violetta, valerian, vernon winnie, willa, winston, winifred, winslow, will, william, willow, wade, wagner, warren, watts, watson, wilhelmina yvonne, yves zephyr/zephyre, zara, zinnia, zion

surnames:

appleyard, ashton, ashwood baker, brookstone, butterfield catkin, cobbler, cooper, copper, copperwood, copperfield, crestfallen dogwood, direwood, direbrook, direfield, desperfield, downyard

doleman fenlon, falkner, forlorn greenwood, greenfield, golding, goldwood, goldfield, griefman, griefwood, gardner

hilbrook, holbrook, heath, horsewood, horsefield, hawksley, harrowing, hawkswood, hawthorne, hawkner, hawkfield, holloway, hallowood

larken, limewood, lockhart, lovejoy mourner, mournwright, mournman nettleship

plowman, penrose, penwright redbrook, rosedale, redwood, rosewood, redfield summerfield, sweetnam, seawright, sorrowfield, sorrowbrook, shamewood, shamewright

thacker, thatcher westfield, wainwright, write/wright, wagonwright, woodsman, wyrmwood/wormwood, winterwood, winterrose, wretchwood, wretchman

system names:

the cottagecore *system, the sorrowful system, the melancholic cottage system, the mourning flowerbed system, the gloomy garden system, the tearful system, the harvest system

1st p prns: i/me/my/mine/myself

ci/cotte/cottagy/cottagine/cottageself hi/he/hy/harvestine/harvestself gi/garde/gardy/gardine/gardenself si/sade/sady/sadine/sadself si/sorre/sorry/sorrowine/sorrowself mi/me/mely/melancholine/melancholyself

2nd p prns: you/your/yours/yourself

co/cottager/cottagers/cottagerself ho/harvester/harvesters/harvesterself go/gardener/gardeners/gardenerself so/sader/sadders/sadderself so/sorrower/sorrowers/sorrowerself mo/melancholer/melancholers/melancholerself

3rd p prns: they/them/theirs/themself

co/cottage, cott/age, cot/cottage, cot/tage, cottage/cottages, cottage/core har/vest, ha/harvest, harv/est, harvest/harvests gar/den, gar/garden, garden/gardens, garden/core farm/core sa/sad, sad/sads, sa/ad, sad/sadden, so/sorrow, sor/row, sorr/ow, sorrow/sorrows, sorrow/sorrowful mel/melancholy, mel/ancholy, melan/choly, melancholy/melancholies, melancholy/melchancholic

titles:

the weeping gardener, the mourning farmer, the sad cottage dweller, the melancholic planter, the sorrowful woodsman

**one who lives a sad cottage life, one who mourns within ones cottage, one who weeps amongst ones gardens, one who copes with sadness through cottage life

book titles:

the sad little cottage, a melancholic villager, the weeping willows, the mourning garden, the sorrows of an old cottage, a pitiful harvest

genders:

buncottagecoric(link),

cottagegoric(link), cafdreamian(link), cottagecrittean(link), cottagecoric(link), Cálidatierramielgender(link)

epuisetristic(link)

gendersob(link)

Sadnostacatgender(link)

orientations: (n/a)

other:

cottagecore bpd(link)

many can be found by searching cottagecore genders/mogai/liom as well, there are many versions of cottagecore flags especially for lgbt related labels so they should not be hard to find if you feel like looking!

*system can be replaced with any alternative (ex. cluster, collective, hoard/horde, etc)

**one can be replaced with any prn

[nostalgia-eh52]

SNL 198 Jim & Tammy Faye Baker visit The Church Lady 📺

[papercutsunset]

i put this on the wrong blog, shut up, that's fine

anyway, examples

i do think the funniest thing cody and i keep doing is deciding that two autistic characters absolutely HAVE to make extended eye contact with each other because they're being Very Normal And Good At Conversations (it's an in-joke. we're having fun. i think it's funny)

[5eraphim]

The Poker Room

Pairing: Lucas Baker x Reader

Rating: X (MINORS DNI GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: yandere, x reader, bondage, gambling, death games, frot, noncon, obsession, possessive/delusional, excessive spit, torture, biting, mind games, piss mentioned briefly (for humiliation purposes), it's Lucas Baker- so overall, unsanitary content ahead!

Word Count: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

TIP JAR

"Course I shoot the gun any chance I get. With blood on my clothes and my hands, I've done it again, I've done it again." (Nicole Dollanganger, Tammy Faye)

"The rational soul is stronger than any kind of fortune from it's own share it guides its affaires here or there, and itself the cause of a happy or miserable life." (Seneca, Moral Letters, 98.2b)

How long have I been stuck here? How many people have I played against? Will it ever end? For hours, these repetitive thoughts ran through your mind. Shackled into a padded wooden electric chair, strapped into place by thick leather belts across both ankles, over both elbows, around your waist, and across your lap. You could move your right arm freely, but your left hand was stuck in place, ensnared in some deathtrap, threatening to end your life in a matter of minutes through painful electrocution. Despite the odds, you managed to win three games of Lucas Baker's version of blackjack. But you'd taken some severe damage in the process, suffering four powerful shocks from the torture machine you were strapped into.

By now, you were forced to watch three other players shocked to death right across the table, less than a meter away from where you sat. Their pleas for mercy, screams of pain, the dull thump of their lifeless heads against the back of their chairs.The scene before you felt too traumatized to be reality. You wanted to believe the last few hours were a morbid nightmare. Yet the ungodly stinging pain in your left arm, the scent of burning flesh, and, of course, that nonstop twanging voice playing over speakers kept you viciously awake.

You would do anything to fall asleep, for any kind of a break after all you'd endured. But your brain remained on high alert, waiting for Lucas to announce the next round at any second, for the room to fall dark as the corpse of your opponent was disposed of and the next player brought in. You couldn't imagine how Lucas could remain watching from another room and rotate players simultaneously. Likely, he wasn't working alone. The idea of another person, completely invisible to you, watching from the shadows, terrified you, and you tried your hardest not to think about it. 

Yet, to your surprise, the room fell silent; the lights remained on as you were forced to stare down the dead body of your last rival. 

As seconds ticked by, you let your head fall as you sobbed, too ashamed to look at the dead body across the table. Keeping your eyes shut tight, you felt overly tense, just waiting for the dim lights and screens illuminating the room to go out, but they never did. Instead the sound of stock-audio applause played over the speakers. You opened your eyes just enough to watch the screens go from green back to Lucas, looking as wickedly playful as ever. 

Slumped back in his chair, he slowly clapped, grinning at the camera, freakishly amused by your misery. Your eyes widened; I've won? The games were over now; you were the last player left alive; despite everything, you survived- whether you wanted to be here or not, there was no one but you and Lucas left alive.

For a long time, you waited, over-tensed with anxiety, for him to break the silence, but he said nothing, just continued to stare you down through the monitor until you couldn't take it anymore. "It's over now- isn't it? I've won?" 

Lucas beamed, "Fuckin' A you won! Damn, you're runnin' hot tonight, sweetheart!"

If it's all over, why the hell is he still sitting there? "I get to go home now, right? You said if I win, I will go home!"

He threw his head back with a raspy laugh, "Slow down there! I said if you won you lived, I never said what would happen next."

And just when you dared hope to see the light of day again, Lucas brought you back to reality. The lights in the room suddenly faded to black, and you moaned in despair, almost expecting this meant you were on for yet another round of cards. But instead, the monitors went grey, providing just a bit of low lighting in the windowless room.

Something rustled in a far corner of the room, making the floor creak. It was Lucas; you knew instantly that it just had to be him. But how come you never heard a door open or close? How close had he been this entire time?

The floorboards creaked closer behind you, and your back went rigid with fear as you were absolutely helpless to defend yourself from the maniac drawing closer. Just when you were sure your heart would give out from the fear, you heard Lucas stop, and two long, lean arms slithered from over your shoulders behind the chair, interlocking and pulling your body even closer to the back of the seat as he purred in a nasally, rasp dangerously close behind you. "Watchin' you lay them other bitches out, I just couldn't help myself. Been stroking myself real slow watching you play, an' dam, you got no idea whatcha been doin' to me!"

His hands found your shoulders, kneading them harshly. You winced from the pain, and he couldn't help but laugh, "I ain't ever been so hard in my life!"

Shaking with fear, you felt his hands retract before strolling from behind the chair to stand directly before you. No longer hiding under his usual hood and long pants, he wore nothing but a stained off-white undershirt and red plaid boxers.

With one hand holding onto the back of the chair beside your right shoulder, Lucas consciously planted his knee between your knees and the other leg on the bit of space between your leg and the arm of the padded electric chair, kneeling over you before settling down to sit on your lap. "Game's over now. An' I gotcha all to myself." Wrapping his arms around your neck, he nuzzled against your skin, not-so-quietly moaning at the rush of skin-to-skin contact. It was an awkward position, but that wouldn't stop him now. After adjusting, he found a stable position, balancing his weight over yours. If you had an ounce of strength left in your body, you would've tried to buck him off, but all you could do now was sit back and take it. 

Lucas was finally as close as he wanted to be for so long, and you could feel every rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled your scent, breathing in extra deep and slow, making sure you could feel the warm fanning of his breath against your neck. You hardly had any mobility strapped into the chair before, but now with Lucas pinning you down, poking your thigh with his erection from above, you had even less room. 

Before you realized what was happening, Lucas brought both palms to the sides of your face, forcing your lips to connect to his. He was awkward, overly excited, and too eager to slip his tongue into your mouth, easily overpowering you into complying. The kiss was intense, needy, and absolutely foul, but you weren't strong enough to break away. Fortunately, it wasn't long until he let go with a loud sigh of pleasure, "Been waiting' too damn long for that!" He panted for a moment, allowing the pleasure of the kiss to wash over him, making his heart beat even faster and his mouth to fill with saliva at the thought of what was to come, mindlessly grinding his hips against yours lazily for a bit more friction.

Burying his head back into the crook of your neck, Lucas was eerily quiet, but before you could wonder why, you felt his hot, wet tongue slide against the thin, sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a filthy trail of spit behind. You couldn't hide the audible sound of disgust you made from this, straining to pull away as best you could.

Lucas chuckled, listening to your disgust. "Still got a little fight left in ya? Whatta ya say, you 'and me, one on one strip poker?"

You couldn't respond but merely moaned in anguish as you felt the repulsive feeling of his sweaty hand begin to grope harder against your thigh; if not for the protective layer of clothing, you didn't doubt his fingernails would dig nasty scratch marks into your flesh. Shaking your head, no, you almost dry heaved thinking about Lucas' naked body.

"Aw, don't wanna? Whassa matter, scared you'll lose?" He snickered; despite the room's low lighting, you were sure he could make out the agony all over your face, no doubt turning him on even more. 

His hand moved from your outer thigh inward but paused for some reason, "Hang on, 'the hell is this?" Lucas's voice caught you off guard with an odd note of genuine confusion. Looking down, you saw Lucas' hand on the seat cushion, the space between your legs distracted by something. He probed the cushions with his fingers, rubbing them together curiously before bringing his hand below his nose and inhaling. To your confusion, Lucas suddenly burst into wicked laughter, gripping the back of the chair to keep from doubling over and hitting the floor.

You really didn't want to know what was so funny, but the look on your face must've said it all because as soon as he regained a bit of composure, he pointed back down at the space between your legs, "You're damn good at holding' your cards, too bad ya can't hold your water too!" His lame little joke sent him into another bout of laughter. It wasn't until he pointed it out that you realized what he meant. At some point, while playing, you pissed yourself, and you hadn't even noticed.

The disgust made your skin crawl, and you couldn't help but shudder, feeling your stomach flop, your head going limp, turning to the side, as far away from Lucas as the restricted mobility would allow of you. The act itself was mortifying enough, but his reaction made the pain sting all the more.   

Snickering a little, he focused his attention back on you, drawing your face to focus back on him by cupping your cheek using the palm of his clean hand. "Aww, don't be like that- It's alright, you're scared now, it's cute!" Listening to his sinister voice "cooing" felt so weird.

Lucas pressed his forehead against yours, almost whispering, "But you'll come around. I know you will! I saw you lay those sons of bitches out! You're just like me!"

On instinct, you snapped your head away, choking out, "Didn't want to kill anyone… D-don't you dare say I'm like you."

Something about the soft, almost loving way Lucas looked at you made you angry, "Darlin', you ain't playing cards no more; no need to keep bluffing."

Not only was he forcing you to acknowledge exactly what you'd done, but he was proud of you for it, and you were enraged to the point of tears. "Not like you… Never be like you!"

Lucas wasn't listening to what you said. He was too caught up in his own arousal and ego to care about how you really felt. "I can't wait to see the look on the old man's face when he sees you 'and me!"

Relaxing a tiny bit against you in an almost-cuddle, he murmured, "All my damn life folks' been sayin' I aint nothin' but a bad seed, a fuck up, family disappointment, 'nd I always told 'em to fuck right off, but you- whew, you ain't like the rest of 'em."

A beat of silence passed before his lips were back against your neck, feeling up the sensitive skin with his lips and tongue, gently scraping his teeth over the wet patches of spit he left behind. The anxiety of his teeth on your bare skin made you swallow hard, trying desperately to keep calm and not do anything to provoke his excitement or, worse, his anger. It didn't feel arousing, but suddenly, you felt like you were back playing cards with your life on the line. Every breath felt like it could be your last, every movement a dangerous gamble. Lucas still held your life in his hands.

As Lucas worked with his mouth, his hands felt up your body, particularly interested in the places the leather straps met your skin, loving the feeling of the stiff leather contrasted by soft skin. He pulled up at your shirt until he could feel the skin of your waist against the strap connecting your back to the chair, grinding his hips straight down against yours, leaving you nowhere left to retreat.

While a thin man, the weight of Lucas on your lap, his greedy hands against your waist, his stench made it hard to breathe. But the feeling of his teeth clamping down suddenly against your neck makes you inhale sharply through grit teeth while he chuckled in amusement. The pain and surprise made you yelp and squirm even harder in the chair.

Lucas pouted with mock sympathy, "Aw, sorry 'bout that darlin', didn't mean to nip ya. 'Less ya wanted more?"

Without missing a beat, you fired back, "G-go to hell, you little shit!" 

Lucas stared at you with the oddest look in his eye and a smile on his face, like he knew something you didn't, "Now, now, I know you're excited, but ya gotta watch that language of yours! Lil' Evie's always listenin'."

Stiffening with discomfort, you whispered, "Always… what?"

"An' she doesn't take kindly to outside folk disrespecting' her family." Lucas didn't bother explaining himself. He was having way too much fun scaring the hell out of you.

But for a moment, you weren't scared; you were enraged, "You all can go to hell!"

"Now, now- you keep on like that, an' someone's gonna hafta teach you a lesson. Learn to be a respectful guest in our home." Lucas chided you as though you were nothing more than a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

For the first time all night, you almost wished you were back playing cards. "Well, if I'm such a rotten guest, why don't you let me go home, you psycho!?"

"She wouldn't like hearing that from ya. Not one bit." To punctuate his point, he disconnected from your skin, and for just a second, you had no idea what he would do next. Until you felt the stinging pain of Lucas' teeth sinking into your neck. Rolling back your head as far as the chair would allow, you let out a pathetic cry of pain, half wondering if this psycho was about to bite your throat off. Your entire body went rigid and tense with pain as Lucas pulled away for a brief moment, only to plant a second nasty bite, almost overtop the first. Pain-filled sobs filled the room as Lucas lapped at the tender wounds. Were you bleeding, or were you already dripping blood? It was impossible to tell.

While not howling with laughter, Lucas clearly enjoyed getting such a strong reaction from you, "H-hah! Oh, darlin', you really are something special, ya know that? Can't- aw fuck! Dunno how much longer I can hold out!"

Just do it! Just get it over with already! You screamed mentally. If there was anything you could do to end the torture faster, you would, even if that meant playing into Lucas' sick, perverted fantasy. It's not like you hadn't spent the past hours doing that. Bound almost entirely in place, there was little you could do to "help" Lucas out in this situation, but that didn't mean you were entirely helpless here.

Spreading your legs as wide as they could in the chair, Lucas' groin fell into place an inch closer to yours, catching him off guard, causing him to stall his rhythm ever so briefly, which you took as an opportunity to rock upwards against him. The friction caught him off guard, made his breath hitch with a moan, and his head to lull back; stealing your resolve, you forced a desperate whine for his attention, silently urging him on. Faster, harder, whatever he needed to do to climax, trying your hardest to convince him it was for the both of you.

"You like that baby! You want more?" He babbled, sounding almost drunk as he found his rhythm again, pounding against you even faster. His sweaty palms latched onto the back of the chair, helping him ground himself enough to dry-hump your lap while leaving messy, wet, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. 

Internally, you tried to think about Lucas as little as possible, just like playing blackjack; all you needed to do was play his game until you won. Keep your legs spread as best you could, whimper for him, press your chest up against his, match his movements- as far as you were concerned, this was no different than playing another round of cards.

He was getting louder now but hardly speaking coherently, "M'so close, fuckin' hell! I'm almost there, c'mon baby, keep goin', keep goin'!" And with one final grunt of exertion, he came, fucking your thigh a while longer as he rode out his climax until he collapsed. Leaving the two of you to sit motionless, stewing in each other's body fluids.

Surely, you'd finally endured the worst of the night. At last, you were certain Lucas was satisfied; he was no longer grinding his full weight against you, just limply resting his body over yours. It wasn't a comfortable position, but it was certainly better than before. You croaked in a voice no louder than a whisper, "Lucas… Just let me go, please. I gave you what you wanted. All I want is to go home!"

He didn't look up, his head still resting on your shoulder, mumbling, "I ain't gonna do that."

"Lucas-" You tried to straighten up in the chair a bit, but his weight over yours kept you firmly rooted.

He eventually picked his head up a bit, sounding a bit less woozy than before, slowly coming down from his climax. "No. If I turned ya lose now, you ain't even makin' it outta the fuckin' house before somethin' gets to you first."

A sudden spark of wrath punctured your exhaustion, reigniting your hatred for the man who spent hours breaking you down psychologically and desecrating your body. Through grit teeth, you grumbled, "You dirty little liar!"

He glared at you, sitting back in the chair a little, separating his upper body from yours, "Listen,"

Now that you had a better look at Lucas, you remembered his smug, insufferable face on the monitors, watching gleefully as you were forced to play for your life. You wanted nothing more than for him to feel even a fraction of the pain he caused you. "No! You're a liar and a cheater, and that's why I'm stuck here! You're why I'm stuck here!"

In the blink of an eye, Lucas planted both palms on your shoulders, his fingers gripping you with inhuman strength. With such force, you wondered if his fingernails would break through your clothes, making you wail as you struggled against his grip. Lucas hissed, "Now you listen, and you listen real good, cuz I'm only telling you this once, honey. You don't have half a fuckin' clue what's goin' on outside this house, but I know you sure as hell ain't gonna win against 'em neither!"

As he increased his hold against your shoulder, you cried, fearing he would break a bone, "The only reason you're still breathing' is 'cuz I'm the one keeping you alive, you hear me! And if you step one toe outta this room, you're dead!"

He suddenly let go, allowing you to pull away, crushing your back further against the chair, tears clouding your vision as you tried to control your breathing. You didn't have the guts to meet Lucas' eye again. "I'm doomed."

Lucas' palm found your cheek, not with the painful force you expected, but just enough to tilt your face in his direction, even if you couldn't bear the sight of him, and kept your eyes closed as he spoke. "You'll live. An' you're gonna live as long as I'm here for ya. I don't need the old man or the old lady breathing down my neck no more. From now on, it'll just be us here to look out for each other. We're gonna make it!"